


Blood Relations

by flyakate



Category: Blade series (movie)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Consent Issues, Other, Sibling Incest, Vampire Turning, Yuletide 2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 08:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyakate/pseuds/flyakate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long day, getting longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Relations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quarterturn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quarterturn/gifts).



I've always been a little too observant for my own good, so while most people would wake to the dark shithole that I've found myself in utterly lost, I can tell without opening my eyes (mostly because opening them would be pointless, it's darker than a black cat's ass in here) that I'm in a stone room big enough to echo, chained to the wall with actual motherfucking _chains_ , and bleeding.

Granted, knowing this wasn't making my day any better, but it gave me something to think about.

Gritting my teeth against the throb in my neck when I shifted, I tried to think of any reason why I'd be here. Normal day, woke up, showered, went out, did some boring shit, hit a bar, and then... _fuck me_.

"No, no, we played that game already," a voice whispers from what would probably qualify as shadows if there was any damn light in here.

I know that voice, I do, it feels familiar and sharp like the taste of whiskey still in my mouth. I swallow and wince, because, shit, someone must have done something to me after I went out. A half memory sticks in my mind, like a bug caught on a windshield.

"Danica," I mutter, remembering the sharp, cold eyes, the refined tilt of her head that pissed me off and turned me on more than I could put into words. Clearly, I think as I test the reach of the chains around my wrists, she'd been a bad call.

"Mmm, close," says the voice. "You might say there's a certain... _resemblance_." and the voice becomes a body, blond and sharply handsome, both chin and cheeks marking him as Danica's blood. Cousin? Brother, I decide. Looks too much fucking like her.

"My name is Asher Talos, Hannibal," he says. "Danica is my sister."

"Well, I'd introduce myself, but we seem to already be acquainted. Though I have to say, my tastes run a little less... medieval than this." I raise a hand, feel the weight of the chain's rattle in my arm.

"Oh, really?" Asher's voice is coolly, almost flatly, amused, and even though I can't move, my back flattens to the wall as he steps closer, like I'm trying to get away before I even have time to think about it. He palms me roughly though my pants-and for all my quickness, it's only now that I'm noticing my shirt and jacket are gone, shoes vanished; I'm standing on stone floor in nothing but my jeans.

I can see him smirk to feel that I'm already half hard, partly because I'm more than halfway to absolutely terrified, but partly because he's got the same untouchable iciness that his sister does, the same fuck off look in his eyes that I know I shouldn't want wrapped around me but I do. My skin feels hot and I can't hold back a shiver.

Asher laughs a little, but there isn't any humor in it, which makes it almost an empty sound, crazy as that is.

"What's going on? If this is some kinky incest thing, color me flattered, but I gotta get up early in the morning. So if you can find your darling sister to jimmy the locks, I'll take a rain check." God, it's like my mouth is on auto pilot, which usually annoys the fuck out of me but the hair's starting to rise on the back of my neck, because fuck, _fuck_ , this isn't looking good.

"Not exactly," says Asher, and the weirdest thing starts to happen. It's like a sneeze, but in my bones and I feel them start to get all pins and needles.

"What," I manage to get out, but Asher merely smirks again and steps back to get sucked up in the dark and I open my mouth to say something, anything, but something's wrong, really wrong, and it's from my neck and the blood and I can feel it all working down my sides and up my spine in a flash like the bile rising in my throat. And I bend over and begin to black out, dark turning to light in spurts and crackles of color, I swear he laughs.

I wish I could say I'm unconscious before I hit the floor. But the first time I hear bones crack against stone, they're mine. Sounds like matchsticks snapping.

*

Waking is weird, in a "I must have left my brain at home, before I went out to a bar with Danica-Ice-Queen-Talos and the world fucked me sideways" way, because part of me doesn't feel like I'd been sleeping. A small voice, small and getting louder, seems to think that I hadn't been sleeping because I _can't sleep_ anymore. That I'm... different now.

I open my eyes and almost close them again. I'm still in the same damn pitch black room, with chains on the wall and a door across the way and large stones making up the floor and walls and ceiling with uneven wood beams all smoky. The reason I close my eyes is because I can _see_ even though it's dark, see everything as clear, clearer even, than with lights. That's... different?

"Morning, lover," drawls a voice from the doorway and even as I move to my feet, I realize that I heard her coming, heard the soft drag of her feet against stone, like I'm hearing my heart not beat, air not push past my teeth. _What the hell?_

"Danica, _darling_ ," I say, having thought of and rejected many other, slightly more colorful greetings.

She smiles, like she can see all the other words still sitting in my head.

"Thirsty?" she asks.

"Well, after last night, let's just say you can pick up the tab," I smile past the lump in throat, the clench of my stomach that tells me I'm both starving and _really_ not going to like what I'm hungry for.

Danica shakes her head at me, like I'm a child, and begins to unbutton the sleeve of her blouse. Behind her, I hear footsteps and see the blond head of her brother.

"Baby needs feeding," and I can't tell who says it, Danica or Asher, because Danica's wrist is a smear of broken skin and blood and even as I want to back up, away, my skin starts to tingle, saliva pool in my mouth. She walks towards me and the noise I've been hearing on top of the tap of her feet is a groan, and as she stops walking I realize it's me.

She raises her arm and it's in front of me, and the beeding of blood on her skin, the heavy smell of it freezes me. My stomach tries to rise up and climb my backbone, vertebrae by vertebrae, even as my mouth opens, and I feel the tickle of my teeth, _fangs, I have fangs_ as it closes on the muscles of Danica's wrist.

The metallic, organic smell of the blood fills my nose and drips down the back of my throat. It's like hitting the floor last night, flashes of light and color, a frission of energy making my hands clench and cock twitch. It's like the moment before coming, all held breath and tingling nerves, and I don't know if I want it to stop or continue forever. I'd say it would kill me, but I'm beginning to think I'm already dead.

When Danica finally rips her arm away, blood's spilled down my chin, across my chest (still bare, but I haven't been cold since I've gotten here, will probably never be again). I lean forward, almost retching but still _starving_.

"What. The. Fuck." How I can gasp when I don't breath is a mystery to me, but I seem to manage all right.

"Welcome to the club," says Asher and when he smiles I see the fangs, the odd metallic glint in his eyes. "Care to share, sister mine?"

"Of course," says Danica, and now she's smiling at her brother with that same knife blade look she gave me in the bar, a deadly one now filled with blood and sex and madness. "You can give him dessert." On the way by, she kisses him, nips at his lower lip so that a trail of blood slides slowly down his chin as I watch.

I've fallen to my knees, which puts me right in front of Asher's erection as he unzips his pants.

When I don't open my mouth, I almost expect a command, a harsh word from Danica. What I don't expect is Asher's steel-toed boot hitting me in the jaw, the echo of its shattering echoing in my head even as I'm thrown to the floor.

I'd scream if I could still force sound past my lips. Tears drip from my eyes and above my head I hear a soft laugh.

"Bad boy," Danica croons. "Play nice."

It takes five minutes for my jaw to heal. It's slow, like a fire dying, and if I concentrate, the ache of regrown bone seems more real than the churning in my stomach.

Asher still hasn't moved as I struggle to my knees again. He holds the back of my head as he thrusts and I can't stop myself from throwing up after he comes and lets me go.

I lie there in a slime of blood and God-only-knows what as Asher tucks himself back into his pants. Danica rests her head on his shoulder.

"A lot to work with here, sister."

"Oh yes," Danica says, and there's a moan lacing her voice. It pulls at all the parts of me, from the blood through my dead veins down to the memory of the bar, the one-night stand that I should have stood the hell away from. "I can see you're going to be a lot of fun, dearest. Still so much pride and lovely innocence to break." I want to close my eyes but keep Danica's gaze, even as my stomach burns and tries to empty again. I grit my teeth.

"Keep it coming, babe."

She makes a little pout of disappointment. Asher smiles, it never reaches his eyes, and turns to walk out the door. Danica follows but stands in the doorway a moment.

"Enjoy the quiet for a little while longer, Hannibal. When I come back I'll have a friend for you, and then we'll see what real fun we can have."

I don't hear the door close. I'm throwing up again.

Finally, my stomach is empty, the taint of blood (mine maybe but horrifyingly more than that) slicking my throat. I slide down onto the ground.

Part of me, the part that my mother says would taunt the Devil on his way to Hell, is wondering what kind of God did I piss off to get set up in this kind of shit storm.

The other part is busy wondering what kind of friend Danica is bringing with her next time: another one like her and Asher (and me, I think now, and have to close my eyes) or a poor shit like I am... used to be.

The thing that really scares me is that I don't know which kind I'm praying for to follow after Danica when the door slides open again.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Written as a pinch hit for Yuletide 2006.


End file.
